


Going Commando

by longleggedgit



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-25
Updated: 2014-01-25
Packaged: 2018-01-10 00:19:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1152560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/longleggedgit/pseuds/longleggedgit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sulu and Chekov get stranded on an alien planet together, much to Sulu's chagrin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Going Commando

**Author's Note:**

> Back in '09, Lizardspots started [drawing the art](http://newtrekslash.livejournal.com/169457.html), and I wrote a story to accompany it. :D So many thanks to [](http://cmere.livejournal.com/profile)[**cmere**](http://cmere.livejournal.com/), who betas for me even in fandoms she has no interest in, and [](http://furiosity.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://furiosity.livejournal.com/)**furiosity** , who teaches me Russian! ♥

"What do you mean, the transporters are offline?" Sulu barks into his communicator, at the same time a loud burst of static erupts out of the earpiece.

"What was that?" Scott asks, in between further eruptions of noise.

"I _said_ , what do you mean—"

"Look, I can't hear you that well," Scott interrupts. "We're having some atmospheric interference, it's jamming our—"

The static drowns out the entire rest of the sentence, and doesn't fade again until, "—just have to stick it out for the night."

Sulu almost chokes on his tongue. "Did you just say what I think you said?"

"We'll contact you in the morning," Scott says. "Try not to—"

But Sulu never hears what they're not supposed to do. The static flares up so loudly and for so long that he finally gives up, cursing, and snaps his communicator shut. He turns around to break the news to Chekov and discovers that, on top of everything else, Chekov has apparently disappeared.

"I found a bird!" comes Chekov's voice suddenly, and Sulu looks up because of course, of _course_ he's in a tree.

"Chekov," Sulu says, frowning in extreme annoyance for no reason other than that the last thing he needs right now is a reminder of how goddamned adorable Chekov is all the goddamned time. "We're stuck here for the night."

"Yes, I heard." Chekov scoots forward on his branch and the bird he was admiring flies away, but he looks down and grins at Sulu anyway. "It will be fun. Like camping!"

Sulu really wants to tell Chekov that being stranded on an away mission on an alien planet with no intelligent life forms is _nothing_ like camping, but he's looking at Sulu too sweetly for him to do anything but groan and rub his eyes.

"At least this planet's warm," he mutters.

Chekov shimmies down the tree and drops onto the ground next to him, brushing leaves out of his hair. "Actually," he says, "at night, this region of the planet usually drops to around 10 degrees Celsius."

"Of course it does." Sulu notices a leaf sticking out from behind Chekov's ear that he missed and briefly struggles with the urge to run his fingers through the curls to dislodge it, but catches himself at the last minute and casually plucks it away instead. "At least we have a tent."

"Mm, and sleeping bags," Chekov says, just before his face falls. "Oh. _Chyort poberi._ I took mine out."

Sulu gapes. "You took your sleeping bag _out_? Why would you do something like that?"

"I thought I would not need it." He shrugs apologetically. "We can share?"

It's beyond Sulu to even attempt to absorb that right now, so he chooses to ignore it, turning away from Chekov to hide his blush. "Let's look for a good place to spend the night," he suggests.

"Okay!" Chekov shoulders his pack, which he'd abandoned at the foot of the tree, and begins to march purposefully west. "I read it is nicer on this side of the island," he says.

"Great," Sulu says, and he allows Chekov a reasonable head start before following in his wake. He has no idea when or why Chekov did extensive research on Eastern hemisphere islands in Boltega 4, but he's not complaining. If Chekov can be left in charge of finding them a reasonably comfortable place for sleeping, then Sulu can focus on trying not to stare at Chekov's ass too much whenever they start up a sharp incline. Which isn't going so well thus far.

Chekov stops suddenly and gives Sulu an inquisitive look. "Did you hear me, sir?"

"What?" Sulu balks under Chekov's gaze, fiddling with the straps on his pack guiltily. "Sorry, Chekov. I'm a little distracted."

"It's all right, sir." Chekov smiles that one reassuring smile he has and that's it, Sulu's knees are ready to give out right here and now on some God-forsaken hill in the middle of nowhere. "I said, what do you think?"

For a moment, Sulu has no clue what Chekov is talking about, but then he takes a step forward and directs his attention where Chekov is pointing, toward the bottom of the slight hill they've just scaled. The area is flat and relatively private, a virtual oasis surrounded by exotic-looking colored grasses, blooming plants, and trees. He can see the glimmer of what appears to be a small lake just beyond the grove, complete with birds bathing themselves in the water, and a slight breeze is scattering brightly-colored petals all over the place. In short, it looks like precisely the kind of place you'd bring a virgin for a very romantic deflowering.

Sulu knows full well he'll sound like a lunatic if he suggests they keep looking, so after waging a brief internal war, he says, voice cracking, "Looks perfect." Chekov's resulting grin is almost, _almost_ enough to make up for it.

"Let's set up the tent!" he says excitedly, starting down the hill. Sulu follows, reassuring himself with the thought that at least something physical like pitching a tent might be sufficient distraction to get his mind off of sleeping within a few centimeters of Chekov's . . . well, everything.

Of course, he's not anticipating pitching a tent to be so physically stimulating that he wants to _die._

"Goddamit," Sulu snarls, dropping whatever piece of tent he was just trying to screw into some other piece of tent and kicking at them both viciously. "A hundred and twenty pieces to a pack and they can't include a fucking _instruction manual_?"

Chekov, who has been seated on their single unrolled sleeping bag trying to screw two other incomprehensible tent pieces together for the past fifteen minutes, looks up at Sulu with a pitying smile. "Maybe it is some kind of test? And we are both doing not so well."

"I wouldn't be at all surprised." Boltega's twin suns have begun to set already but Sulu can't stop sweating bullets, so he strips off his uniform shirt and tosses it to the side, feeling immediately liberated once he's down to his sleeveless undershirt. Swiping at the moisture on his face, he turns back to Chekov.

"You getting burned?" Sulu asks, noting there's a definite pink to Chekov's cheeks that wasn't there earlier in the day.

"Huh?" Chekov looks a little dazed, but he seems to snap out of it when Sulu just keeps staring. "No, I'm fine," he says quickly, standing up and dropping his tent pieces as well. "I was just thinking, why not make a fire? We can sleep outside this way, no problem."

Sulu shrugs. "Fine with me. I'm giving up on the tent."

They go to the lake to collect stones for making a firebed and Chekov pauses for a moment to test the water, dipping both hands in and then shaking them dry.

"It's nice," he says. "We could swim."

The only changes of clothing in their packs are thermal uniforms for extreme cold, Sulu remembers, which means any swimming would have to be done in the buff. He quickly vetoes the suggestion. "I'm not much of a swimmer."

Chekov seems a little disappointed but doesn't argue, and after they've collected some dry tinder as well, they return to their campsite. He did terribly in that portion of his survival training at Academy, so Sulu lets Chekov take care of the fire-building, busying himself with digging out emergency rations for them in the meantime.

"Do you want 'Savory Bolian Soufflé,' 'Drayan Spongefish in Cherel Sauce,' or," –he squints at the last package in his hands, half convinced he's reading things wrong— "'Torothan Blood Soup,'" he says at last. "Tough choice."

Chekov wrinkles his nose. "They do not have anything from Earth?"

"Doesn't look like it."

"Blood soup, then." Sulu's eyes widen and Chekov keeps a straight face for approximately three seconds before bursting into a fit of giggles. "Kidding, kidding," he says, in between further fits of laughter. "Whatever the first one was, I will have that."

Sulu laughs, too, but mainly to cover up for the fact that he can't stop watching Chekov's face, carefree and happy and bathed perfectly in the light of the fire he's just managed to get going. A chill is starting to settle in the air but Sulu doesn't move to pick up his long-sleeved shirt, terrified of ruining the moment, content to sit here with goosebumps standing up on his arms forever as long as Chekov doesn't change from how he is at this precise moment.

"Sir?" Chekov says, his expression curious all of a sudden, and Sulu is brought jarringly back to reality.

"Here." Sulu hands Chekov his provisions, heart pounding, and takes a seat next to him on the sleeping bag, refusing to meet his eyes as he opens his own dinner and begins to eat. Freeze-dried Drayan Spongefish is actually not as bad as he might've expected, although how much of that is willful self-delusion, he can't be sure.

"This is terrible," Chekov says, after a short, unpleasant silence has passed, and yeah, that sounds more accurate.

"Yeah," Sulu agrees.

They don't say anything else until both their dinners are gone and the suns have long since set, replaced in the sky by a distant moon. Chekov's fire has grown in size and warmth and Sulu is grateful for it, fairly comfortable even despite the sharp drop in temperature.

"We should, uh, probably move the sleeping bag a little farther away from the fire," Sulu suggests, breaking the silence. The last thing he really wants to think about is their sleeping situation, but ignoring it isn't going to make things any less awkward.

"Yes, okay." Chekov stands up and Sulu drags the bag a few feet, sitting down on it again when he thinks the distance is suitable. After a brief hesitation, Chekov resumes his place at Sulu's side.

"It's kind of nice," Chekov says, sighing a little and stretching his arms behind him. Sulu doesn't even try to hide the way his eyes trail to the flash of skin at Chekov's stomach, and he blames the soothing hum of Chekov's voice for his sudden desire to just keep him talking no matter what.

"What do you mean?" Sulu asks, hoping Chekov will answer at length; hoping he'll talk forever.

It seems for a moment as if Chekov isn't going to answer, but when Sulu directs his attention to Chekov's face rather than his stomach he can tell he's considering the question carefully, intending to answer as eloquently as possible. He's got that expression he sometimes wears when someone asks him to relate a childhood story about Russia, and it's so gorgeous Sulu actually sucks in a breath. Luckily, Chekov, preoccupied with beginning to unbuckle his boots, doesn't seem to notice.

"The _Enterprise_ , I love her," he says, slowly, "but always she is so full of people, all the time. It feels like there is never a place to be alone, or even a place to be with just one other person."

Sulu's head is spinning all of a sudden, dizzy with the effort to dissect exactly what Chekov means. Before he gets a chance to ask, though, Chekov continues.

"I'm glad I could be here with you," he says, tilting his head toward Sulu shyly. "I don't think I would rather it be anyone else."

There are about a dozen immediate responses to that Sulu can come up with, but he acts on the first one that grabs him.

"Shit, Pavel," he moans, and he grabs Chekov so forcibly by the waist that it almost hurts when their mouths connect.

Chekov gasps but, to Sulu's surprise and pleasure, immediately melts into the kiss, opening his mouth eagerly and twisting his body so it fits more comfortably against Sulu's. The curve of Chekov's spine and taste of his mouth are so good that Sulu feels like he can't get enough. He tightens his hold on Chekov's waist, slides a hand down to his ass, and then moans when Chekov wriggles against him and bites at his bottom lip, hard.

" _Shit_ ," Sulu says again, unable to help but break the kiss so he can let out a shuddering breath. Chekov's eyes are closed but he furrows his brow at the interruption, shifting his body yet again so he's sitting in Sulu's lap with his legs wrapped around his waist and fuck, Sulu can feel the outline of Chekov's cock and it's already so goddamned _hard_.

"Don't stop," Chekov whines, writhing a little in Sulu's lap.

"Okay, Jesus, God—" Sulu can barely handle the breathiness of Chekov's voice, the persistent movement of his hips. His own dick jumps to attention almost as quickly as Chekov's, painfully sensitive to the way Chekov's continued writhing forces the cloth of his trousers to rub against it over and over.

Sulu growls without intending to and grabs hold of Chekov's ass so hard he gasps again, and then Sulu's falling back on the sleeping bag with Chekov on top of him, seeking his mouth out for another kiss, deeper and filthier this time. Chekov sucks at Sulu's bottom lip but Sulu will only put up with that for so long, probing Chekov's mouth open with his tongue, hissing and jutting his hips up sharply when Chekov takes this as an invitation to bite. Before long their hips are grinding together in a near-relentless rhythm, and the sensation of Chekov's cock pressed flush against his is getting harder and harder to take.

What finally just about pushes Sulu over the edge is, bizarrely, when Chekov starts to stroke his fingers through Sulu's hair, tender despite the fact that they're rutting against each other like animals in heat. Sulu jerks forward, cursing, and puts a hand in between them, pushing against Chekov's chest.

"Wait," he says. "I'm—"

Chekov looks confused and even annoyed for about half a second, and then the expression on his face fades into one of amusement.

"So soon?" he purrs, and when that only makes Sulu choke, Chekov starts to slide down his body, pushing his shirt up so he can kiss down his chest and stomach. Sulu can't believe he ever assumed Chekov was a virgin, not when he's so expertly mouthing a hot trail above the line of Sulu's trousers, not when he's unbuttoning them and tugging them down along with his boxers so Sulu's cock slaps against his stomach and he's hissing all over again.

The sensation of Chekov's mouth closing around the head of Sulu's dick is so hot and perfect Sulu has to find something to grab hold of, settling finally for one hand twisted in a fistful of grass and one hand twisted in Chekov's hair. Chekov hums, apparently welcoming the sharp tug, and he's barely swept his tongue across the slit of Sulu's dick and dragged it down the underside with deliberate slowness before Sulu's had it, he can't control himself anymore. He props himself up on one elbow and starts to fuck Chekov's mouth, briefly concerned this might be taking things too far but reassured when Chekov moans around him like it's the only thing he's ever wanted.

"Fuck, Pavel," Sulu grates out, letting his head fall back and his eyes clench shut as he gets steadily nearer and nearer release. When he finally comes, Chekov sucks at his cock until he's spent, and Sulu gets his eyes open again just in time to see Chekov spit into the grass and slide back up his body.

They kiss more slowly this time, Sulu reveling in the taste of himself on Chekov's tongue like he never has with anyone else before, until Chekov starts to whimper and purposely rub his hard-on against Sulu's hip.

"Sorry, sorry," Sulu says against his mouth, helping Chekov lean back so he can sit up himself. As soon as they're sitting like they were in the first place, Chekov in Sulu's lap with his legs wrapped around him, Sulu slides a hand up the back of Chekov's shirt and quickly works his way into his trousers, freeing his dick and beginning to stroke.

It's only meant to be prelude to the best head Chekov will ever receive in his fucking life, but Chekov immediately buries his head against Sulu's shoulder and clutches at his back and thrusts into his hand with desperation, coming the second Sulu tightens his grip by the slightest amount.

" _Oh,_ " Chekov breathes against Sulu's neck, relief more than surprise lacing his voice. Sulu rubs his back until he stops shuddering and then Chekov pulls back, eyelids heavy and cheeks flushed. The sight is enough to make Sulu want to throw him down on the sleeping bag and have his way with him all over again, but the urge is trumped by exhaustion and an even more compelling desire to kiss him until neither of them can breathe anymore.

"Come here," Sulu says, pulling him down to the sleeping bag.

They kick out of their boots and trousers and sticky underwear, and even though the sweat is drying on their skin in the now-chilly night air, they peel off each other's shirts as well, snuggling into the narrow sleeping bag as best they can. Their limbs end up tangled in all sorts of impossible ways and their faces are so close every puff of breath from Chekov's mouth skirts across Sulu's cheek, but there are, Sulu figures, worse things.

"That took you long enough," Chekov mumbles, closing his eyes and sighing as Sulu kisses his forehead.

"Me?" Sulu says incredulously. "What about you?"

Chekov snorts. "I have been giving hints for months," he says. "You were just staring and doing nothing."

He can't really deny it, but the implication that they could have been fucking for months and the fact that they weren't is somehow _all Sulu's fault_ rankles him a bit.

"Oh, come on," he says. "I'm the one who made a move in the end."

"True," Chekov concedes. "But I am the one who lied about the sleeping bag."

"You—what?"

Chekov starts to giggle and Sulu can only wait, scandalized, until he's calmed down.

"You _lied_? You mean we really had two?" He considers untangling himself from Chekov and checking the packs and verify this, but the prospect of losing this warmth for even a few seconds is daunting.

"If you had not made a move, I would have," Chekov informs him, grinning, and Sulu is trying very hard to be annoyed but can't seem to feel anything outside this cloudy state of euphoria.

"You're completely conniving," he says, impressed despite himself.

"I think that is a compliment."

Sulu laughs, sliding up in the sleeping bag just enough so he can reach behind him and start to feel around in the grass. "Gimme your communicator," he says, locating his own where he dropped it some few feet away and pressing the power button.

"Why?" Chekov asks, even as he hands over his own.

"These are going off until morning," Sulu says. Satisfied they won't be causing any unwelcome interruptions now, he tosses both communicators a few feet away.

"What if they fix the transporters early?" Despite his protests, Chekov looks infinitely pleased with Sulu's solution.

Sulu pauses as if to consider this, wriggling back down so his legs are entwined with Chekov's again and their noses are just barely brushing.

"It's a risk I'm willing to take," he decides at length, and when Chekov beams and slides a hand up his bicep, closing the space between them for a kiss, Sulu takes a moment to silently pray they're stuck here another week before he kisses back.

_end_  



End file.
